Because he's gone
by Ocne
Summary: Sawyer used to be a jerk. An angry, manipulative, selfish, arrogant jerk. It still beat remembering Jack's blood on his palm after their last handshake.


**Disclaimer: **LOST isn't mine but, as I don't have a beta, all the mistakes are.

**Because he's gone**

It hurt. Every time Sawyer remembered the events of those final days on the Island, it hurt. So he tried to forget. Unsuccessfully, because it felt wrong to drown in drink, now. It felt wrong to go out for a meaningless fling. So much of what he used to be and do felt wrong that Sawyer didn't know how to forget.

A month ago today, six of them had taken that Ajira plane and left the Island. A month ago today, Jack has...

Sawyer turned off the TV he wasn't even trying to watch. The noise provided a bit of a distraction, but not nearly enough, not today. So he shrugged into his jacket and left the motel room in hasty, uneven strides.

If only he could forget everything about the last six years. Everything and everyone. If only he could somehow find a way to erase that whole part of his life. Push a button, reset it all and live like he had used to live. Yeah, he used to be a jerk. An angry, manipulative, selfish, arrogant jerk. It still beat remembering Jack's blood on his palm after their last handshake.

Sawyer jerked as if hit.

'Damn you, doc!' he swore under his breath, kicking a rock with so much force that it bounced off a building wall and went spinning into a car parked nearby. An alarm went off, accompanied by the sound of breaking glass. Sawyer scowled.

'Damn you, your island and everyone on it!' he spat and turned away from his own twisted reflection in the rear window.

But Hurley was on it, and Sawyer's anger bled away. Somehow, even as every thought about Jack triggered a white-hot fury, he couldn't bring himself to be angry at Hurley.

In his past life, Sawyer would be dead drunk right about now. He knew just the right place, too. The pub was only two block away-a noisy, filthy place that attracted all kinds of scum. He could get in a fight there, let off some of the steam. Old habits might bring him some comfort after all, because this night he couldn't keep it all away anymore, he needed a drink.

He needed to forget.

He needed to stop seeing those last moments when Jack, wounded and bleeding, his face white with pain, was smiling his old smile as he was saying goodbye.

Sawyer needed to...

The anger and pain choked him before he made it to the bar. He turned into a back alley that stank of cat and human urine. As the lights from the street dimmed, Sawyer made his way through piles of waste, damp boxes and what looked like dirty linen by what little light filtered through shuttered windows. The walls of the buildings opened on a street across of which ran a little stream, its waters dark and silent in the night. There was a single tree, a poor excuse of one at that, as it was barren and twisted. And there was a bench. Sawyer sat.

He needed to forget, but he couldn't. He wished he had Hurley's gift, so he could talk to Jack and tell him in detail every little tiny thing he had ever thought of him. Because Sawyer couldn't help but think about the bastard.

James blinked and forced his fists to uncoil in his lap. His teeth stayed clenched, but he swallowed and breathed, blinking at the stars as wave after wave of hate washed through him.

What was wrong with him?

Everyone else who returned was going on with their lives: Kate and Claire were taking care of Aaron; Miles and Lapidus seemed fine and Richard looked positively happy. Even Desmond had been reunited with his family by Hurley, the new protector of the Island. Because Jack had died on that damned rock just as he himself was flying to safety. To freedom, he had thought at the time. Yet here Sawyer was, thinking back on his choices, wondering if he would have fared better than the doctor after taking Locke on.

He didn't hate Jack, couldn't hate him knowing that even if James were to return to the Island, the one who had been their leader would never again walk out of the woods to greet him. No matter what he did, Sawyer would never see him, never speak to him again. Jack had fixed the Island, but Sawyer couldn't fix death.

'Why are you so angry at Jack?' Kate had asked him during their last encounter.

'Because he's gone.' Sawyer had said.

He needed to grieve, but didn't know how.

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**A/N**: Thank you for reading! Feedback is very appreciated.


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